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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751970">As Your Shadow Crosses Mine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields'>Viscariafields</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Puppy Love [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Companion Piece, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, Tumblr Prompts, Wardens in Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 03:54:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28751970</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to "The Depth of Fear." Short snippets of Alistair and Bethany's relationship as Grey Wardens, mainly from tumblr prompts I receive.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alistair/Bethany Hawke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Puppy Love [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The prompt was: The smell of freshly baked bread</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“All I want is to sleep for a hundred years,” Alistair groaned as soon as they broke out of the earth into the sunlit countryside of Antiva.</p><p>“Put me down for a thousand, then,” Bethany muttered, trudging along. No concept of time in the Roads, just endless darkness and darkspawn to be routed. Bethany had been certain it was the middle of the night when they emerged, except the sun was shining bright, too bright in her opinion, and given that she no longer had any sense of which direction was east, she could not even say if it was morning or afternoon.</p><p>Alistair appeared to know, because he led them straight to a little seaside village. Morning then, assuming the sea hadn’t rearranged itself while they were below it all. And Bethany was so close, so <em>close </em>to reaching a bed, any bed, when the smell of salt in the air was replaced with the smell of fresh bread, and her feet changed direction without any direct input from her brain.</p><p>“Bethany?” Sigrun called after her, but Bethany already had two fingers up as she approached the elf in her stall, flour up to her elbows.</p><p>“Two please,” she sighed, fishing out her coins and finding herself unable to remember what each one was worth.</p><p>A large hand plucked a few of them from her palm and passed them over to the baker. “And two more for me,” Alistair said.</p><p>“Hey,” she groaned weakly as he accepted the bread for both of them. Alistair held a loaf in front of her face, and she realized he had probably meant for her to take it with her hands only after she had leaned forward and bit into it, tearing off a huge chunk of freshly baked bread.</p><p>He watched her chew for a moment, and then chuckled, “Let’s get you to bed, recruit.” He led her all the way there, hand on her back when she proved she couldn’t walk straight, while she devoured her breakfast.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The prompt: "I bet I'm strong enough to pick you up."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After months of quiet sullenness, Alistair was delighted to learn that one drink in his newest recruit, and she could laugh and jest with the best of them. Well, maybe not quite the <em>best </em>of them, her jokes could use a bit of work to be honest, but she had smiled for three whole minutes and that was a new record for the storm cloud of a woman.</p><p>Sigrun pinched Bethany’s biceps. “I thought the Joining was supposed to put muscles on you. I mean how else do you explain Alistair? Don’t tell me he was like that already.”</p><p>“I have muscles,” she protested, “Swinging a staff around is hard work, you know. Harder than poking daggers into things. I’m <em>very </em>strong.”</p><p>She swung her tankard around as she spoke, sloshing the ale over the side, and knowing it was only her <em>second </em>ale, Alistair could not help poking, “For a mage.”</p><p>“For anyone,” Bethany responded, an edge to her voice. Alistair patted her little shoulder with his sizable hand, in what he thought was a placating manner. “I bet I’m strong enough to pick you up,” she hissed.</p><p>The other Wardens jeered, but Alistair shook his head. “I believe you, trust me, but if you dropped me, I’d crush you, and then where would we be? Down a mage. And I don’t know if I could convince Stroud into giving me another.”</p><p>And yet, somehow, despite his carefully reasoned objection, Alistair found himself, to the hoots and hollers of the other Wardens, being picked up by Bethany Hawke, who was indeed strong enough to lift him off the ground. What she wasn’t, however, was very tall, so she couldn’t lift him very far. This should not have been an issue, except on putting him back down, she managed to place him on top of her own foot. Unwilling to step on her, Alistair’s knee’s buckled, and they both tumbled to the ground, Bethany landing on top of him as his back hit the dirt.</p><p>Her hands were splayed out on either side of his head, and whatever quip Alistair had thought to say died in his throat. Maker, but she was a beautiful storm cloud, eyes widened in worry.  </p><p>“Are you alright?” she asked, “Did you hit your head?”</p><p>“No, but I think my spine is absolutely crushed under the weight of all your muscles, recruit.”  All signs of worry abandoned her face. She rolled her eyes and got off him, but not before sending a tiny electric shock at his shoulder. As he watched her collect her third ale of the evening, triumphant in her feat of strength, he reflected that ‘crushed’ really was the right word. Ill-advised and utterly unforeseen, Alistair had a crush. Oh, Maker.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The prompt: Things you said I wasn't meant to hear</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>“This is inedible,” Alistair muttered, glaring at his stew. Bethany stopped in her tracks behind him, a horrible flushing building in her cheeks. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oghren said it was your favorite.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Maker’s breath, Beth,” he exclaimed as he jumped, the bowl flying out of his lap and landing in the dirt. “Don’t sneak up on a man like that.” </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Bethany watched her evening’s work seep into the ground, paralyzed by embarrassment. She couldn’t have gotten it more wrong if she’d tried. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Wait, Oghren said, <em>what?”</em></p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tumblr prompt: "You're doing okay, I promise."</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m not—I’m not <em>that </em>good of a healer,” the new recruit mumbled, hands glowing blue. Alistair really could have used that information before charging headlong into the nest of genlocks blocking their path, but it probably wouldn’t have changed much.</p><p>“I’m certain you can do this, recruit,” Alistair grunted. “The real trick of it is making sure I don’t bleed to death. Any other healing is extra.”</p><p>She nodded, but only just. “This part’s going to hurt,” she warned him as if every other part of this debacle hadn’t hurt, and Alistair mashed his teeth together as she pulled the arrow out of his thigh. She slapped the poultice over the wound—<em>some bedside manner, her—</em>and Alistair flinched with his whole body.</p><p><em>“Fuck,</em>” she swore heartily, but she moved to the next arrow and the next poultice. It occurred to him as she pulled out the third arrow that had penetrated his armor that he might have appreciated being comforted just then, a few words to tell him just what a good patient he was being, how still he was lying under the circumstances, but when he opened his eyes, all he saw was the paleness of her skin under a sticky sheen of sweat.</p><p>“You’re doing okay,” he got out through gritted teeth. He grabbed her trembling wrist, and she turned her frightened, brown eyes to him. “I promise. I’ll be dancing the remigold by Tuesday.”</p><p>“Not with me,” she replied, turning back to the wound on leg, “Two left feet.”</p><p>Alistair laughed, or at least did as close as he could to it at the present moment. Sort of a full body jerk that he instantly regretted. “For an affliction as serious as that, we’ll have to find you a healer, recruit.”</p><p>“Let me know if you have any luck,” she muttered.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The prompt was "Dust floating in golden sunlight"</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="">
  <p>Bethany lingered in their bedroom. She had meant to be in and out—grab the small portrait she’d painted three years ago then shut the door forever—but now she found herself cataloging the place.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She hadn’t made the bed after she slept in it last. It remained wrinkled and untouched, one pillow on the floor where she’d fallen. One drawer stood open in their bureau, Alistair’s shirts slowly gathering a layer of dust that floated down in the sliver of sunlight from the half-closed curtains.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No matter. He didn’t need them now. Nor did he need the runestones on his desk, nor the statuettes that sat on their mantle. It was all just as he left it, months ago, and it would remain just as he left it for months longer. Duncan’s shield over the fireplace, Bethany’s drawings plastered over his side of the bed. His slippers in the corner. The half-read book on his nightstand, page marked with a folded-up letter from Zevran.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It would all gather dust, and after that, Bethany didn’t know, and she didn’t care. She carefully tucked the portrait into her pack, and on impulse swiped a runestone off his desk, the one he’d found on that first trip to Orzammar together, when all Bethany could do was look up, up at the vaulted ceilings and the Diamon quarter hanging over them, and Alistair had grabbed her hand to pull her back to the market stall and show her the stone, red and smooth around the carvings, asked her if it was any good, grinning ear to ear when she assented. She shoved that in her pack, too. Then she strode out of what had once been their room and closed the door.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Whether she found him in the Fade or found only his corpse, it didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be coming back here.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>From a tumblr prompt: Stepping in something squishy</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bethany felt her whole body coil in revulsion. She was a Warden, she had faced shrieks and broodmothers and the endless darkness and she did not flinch. And yet stepping in something squishy made her muscles tremble from thigh to fingertip in pure disgust, and despite herself, she let out a tiny squeak of hatred.</p><p>“Bethany?” Alistair asked from behind her, slight alarm in his voice.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” she said through clenched teeth, unable to even look down to see what had squished like that. Nothing good. The knowledge would only upset her further, and a bath was very far off. “I just stepped in something.”</p><p>She could feel his scrutiny down her back, and then she heard his chuckling. She supposed he <em>would </em>find it funny.</p><p>“It’s just, I know that when I lift my foot,” she explained, “I’ll feel it going just as surely as I felt it coming, and whatever it is, it was <em>disgusting.</em>” She was trapped here now, in a perpetual stated of squishing.</p><p>Alistair laughed harder, as she knew he would, but then she felt herself lifted into the air. The shock was so distracting she hardly noticed the squelch of her foot being removed from whatever it was. Alistair placed her down on beautifully solid ground and bowed stupidly low to her.  </p><p>“There you are, my lady, delivered safely from the from the poor, oozing mushrooms that you utterly demolished with your careless boot.”</p><p>Oh. Well, mushrooms weren’t so bad after all. She rolled her eyes and uttered a sarcastic, “My hero.” And with the echoes of Alistair’s laughter through the cavern, they continued their trek.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hawke and Bethany have a very stupid argument.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I bought croissants,” Hawke announced to the household at large. Unfortunately, the household at large currently only consisted of Bethany, tucked up in an armchair and giving her a bewildered look.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Croissants?” She held her basket up, for all the good that did. The pastries were safe and warm under their napkin.</p><p>Bethany snapped her book shut. “Why are you saying it like that?”</p><p>“Like what? Croissant?” She very carefully imitated the baker’s accent, perhaps hitting the nasal bits a little too hard.</p><p>Bethany scrunched up her nose. “Exactly. Like <em>that</em>.”</p><p>“How am I supposed to say it?”</p><p>“Like a normal person. Like a Fereldan. <em>You </em>sound like a prat.”</p><p>“That’s how the baker said it. I think she would know.”</p><p>“She’s pretentious.”</p><p>“She’s Orlesian! It’s their pastry. It’s their word! An Orlesian baker would know how to say it better than anyone else in the world.”</p><p>“Oh, so you’re pro-Orlesian now? I didn’t know you’d grown so fond of the empire while I was away.”</p><p>“I—” No one had <em>ever </em>accused Hawke of such a thing. “You take that back,” she growled.  </p><p>“Take your cwasons back. I’ll eat a croissant,” Bethany replied with extra emphasis on the ‘t’. Then she snatched one from the basket, shoved it in her ungrateful, cultureless mouth, and smiled.</p><p>“May you choke on it,” Hawke muttered, reasonably certain Bethany wouldn’t hear it over her chewing.</p><p>Merrill walked in then, yawning. “Oh, did Hawke buy buns?” she asked, taking one. Bethany and Hawke both glared at each other, daring the other to speak before they both broke into laughter. Unfortunately the laughter caused Bethany to actually begin choking on her croissant, and Merrill moved to gently stroke her back. “Did I say something wrong?” she asked.</p><p>“No,” Hawke assured her, “No you did not.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The great thing about this argument is that I could also see them each taking the opposite side if their roles were reversed. If Bethany had bought croissants and now sounded Orlesian, Hawke would lose her mind over it. And that's the great thing about sibling fights. They are so, so stupid.</p><p>Also, you KNOW they call them buns for the rest of time.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The prompt was "Dipping in a natural hot spring"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bethany clasped her hand over her nose. “What is that smell?”</p><p>None of the other Wardens seemed particularly bothered by it. In fact, as Bethany stared incredulously at their uncovered noses, she felt an air of excitement rippling through them.</p><p>“Just you wait,” said Alistair, coming up behind her. “It’s going to be worth it.”</p><p>She could hardly see how that could be true. “I suppose for you this isn’t much worse than the stench of your socks every day. Barely even notice it, really.”</p><p>Alistair laughed. “Careful, recruit. With an attitude like that, we won’t give you a turn.”</p><p>“A turn doing what exactly?” she pressed, but Alistair just grinned, then jogged up ahead. Everyone was rushing a bit now, <em>toward </em>the smell, and Bethany had no choice but to follow or be left behind.</p><p>The cavern opened up ahead of them, a trickle of water echoing, and the Wardens pushed forward in a giddy rush. Bethany, still confused, sent lights scattering across the ceiling, revealing steaming pools of water.</p><p>She jumped when she heard the first clank behind her, but it was followed by more as everyone rushed to disrobe at once. Sigrun shuffled Bethany over behind a stalagmite, something like privacy she supposed, and despite the smell, Bethany caught the giggles that were traveling through the group as she shucked everything, too.</p><p>Maker, the stench was worth it. Every aching muscle practically sang as she sunk herself up to her neck.  </p><p>She thought she and Sigrun had an isolated pool to themselves, but as she as she walked out further, deeper, she saw they all connected.</p><p>And she saw Alistair, buck naked, all big arms and chest and legs and everything, happily doing a slow backstroke across it all.</p><p>She didn’t look away.</p><p>That is, she didn’t look away until he turned his head and saw her staring, mouth open, entirely naked herself. Then she looked away very fast, which didn’t really matter because she also plunged the entire cavern into darkness by extinguishing her lights.</p><p>And though it was followed by a lot of groans and shrieks and splashing and laughter, she didn’t put any of them back. Someone could light a torch if they really wanted one. Bethany wasn’t about to let everyone see her blush.</p><p>Least of all Alistair.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on tumblr as nug-juggler!  I could always use more prompts =D</p></blockquote></div></div>
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